


Beachwear

by zulu



Category: This is Wonderland
Genre: Character of Colour, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-13
Updated: 2005-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 00:31:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zulu/pseuds/zulu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alice knows why she's asking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beachwear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daemonluna](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=daemonluna).



> Written for Daemonluna. October 13, 2005.

Judge Fraser laces his fingers together, and he frowns--or winces--and clears his throat. "Now, what I want to know, Ms De Raey, is whether I have to actually--perform?" His snowy eyebrows raise on the last word, a mocking gesture that's familiar from the courtroom--_do you think you're really going to pull *that* one over on *me*?_\--and Alice stumbles over her words. She was prepared to say, "It was just an idea, sir. It doesn't matter," out loud, and then, maybe bitterly, and mostly to herself, "Thank you _so much_ for your time,"--and then escape, but instead he wants answers.

Nancy saves her (Nancy is always saving her), and steps up to her full height. She's still shorter than Judge Fraser, sitting in his office chair. "No. Everything is already planned. All the details are set, and you are _not_ going to mess them up, _nothing_ is messing this up, especially not you. You might be a judge, but everyone knows you're a _crazy_ judge. Sir."

"Then..." Judge Fraser eyes Nancy sideways, over the top of his glasses, and Alice hopes that his usual look of befuddlement--this time--indicates wary respect. Even Judge Fraser must have heard of Nancy by now, and probably directly from Nancy. "..._why_ are you asking me?"

"I have no idea!" Nancy says triumphantly, because she's been waiting weeks to win this argument. "It makes no sense at all. Well! That's settled then. Let's go, Alice."

"Perhaps," says Judge Fraser, "I should ask Ms De Raey."

They both turn to her. Alice feels paralysed, like she did a dozen times her first day in court. The answers are there, but she has no idea how they're supposed to emerge; she doesn't know the protocol, the sequence. "I, ah--"

"It's a simple question, Ms De Raey," and, oh God, this _is_ her first day in court; the only thing missing is some perfectly-pressed Crown attorney waiting on her reply with a haughty smirk. Alice thanks whatever karma she has that Nancy insisted they do this in Judge Fraser's chambers. It was Nancy who dogged his heels from courtroom to coffee stand to the men's bathroom and back to do it, too, and for a moment Alice forgets that she's expected to provide answers and can only grin at Nancy, her co-conspirator, her partner in--if not crime--then in everything else.

She wants to explain: to both of them. She wants to tell them about one Tuesday last February, when she'd struggled to court under the wet weight of three wool sweaters that the wind still managed to drive through. That Tuesday, with the whole city iced over in sleet and frozen to unnatural stillness, Judge Fraser walked into court in flip-flops and shades. Alice wants to remind Nancy how she won the pool that week--because Judge Fraser really was only wearing swim trunks underneath his robes. She wants to say, "Because," and leave it at that. She doesn't want--not really--to let either of them know how warm she felt, in the middle of all that winter, when he beckoned her to approach, in a five minute lull (for once--for _once_\--it was Menon struggling with paper and coffee and briefcase), when he leaned down and whispered, "If judges had any real power, beachwear would be mandatory in my courtroom. I'm worried that Ms Menon needs the sun, aren't you?"

And Alice isn't _stupid_, so it's not like she doesn't realise that this is also about her father; how he left his ad-exec, six-figure-salary, nine-to-five office one day, without a word, without notice, and moved to Salt Spring Island. He sells baubles to tourists and digs beneath tiny vent holes in the sand, looking for clams. He lives in a shack, weathered-grey, and experiments with hemp clothing. He says he can't afford the plane ticket back East, not _that_ weekend, no, not any weekend; but she's the one left doing his taxes every spring, and besides, she's enough of a defence lawyer to hear a lie, even over the phone.

"I'd just--I'd appreciate it, sir," Alice finally says. "It would mean a lot to me."

Judge Fraser harrumphs a bit to himself. She wonders what he makes of her doubtful, almost peevish tone, like she's not sure exactly _what_ it would mean to her--even though, truthfully enough, it would be a lot.

"Well," he says, at last, "I think that's reason enough." This time, she's the one caught in that owlish, professorish glare over his glasses. "I just want you to know, Ms De Raey, that I wish you and Ms Dao," (here, he pauses, swings his gaze to Nancy, and communicates something fierce and curmudgeonly to her with a series of blinks), "all the happiness in the world." He smiles, that shark smile, the one that guarantees her defence case is about to be riddled with holes, the one that promises nothing for the future unless she's willing to fight tooth and nail for it--and he says, "I'd be honoured to give you away."


End file.
